Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I look up, feeling my lungs tighten and my heart stutter when I see my own refection staring back at me through a pair of dark sunglasses. I turn to get away and start to scream, but before I can even make a sound or take a breath, my mouth is covered by a large hand holding a cloth.
I suck in a lungful of air that burns my throat and buck back, feeling my feet come off the floor. Feeling something jab into the side of my neck, my eyes that are suddenly too heavy to keep open start to close, and my body feeling like deadweight falls. I hear people chatting and try to fight, try to open my mouth to yell, but it’s useless as I’m dragged into the darkness.
Hadley
As the credits on the screen start to roll, I stand from my seat, grabbing my purse, my half-eaten bag of popcorn, and my empty soda cup. I smile at the couple that had taken up the seats next to me and scoot past them, not bothering to stick around for the extra feature. Heading down the steps and out of the theater with the crowd, I toss my cup in the garbage and tuck my popcorn away in my bag, figuring I paid close to ten dollars for it, so I might as well pretend like I will eat it later.
Stopping at the restrooms, I wait in line forever for a stall, and by the time it’s my turn, the bathroom is almost empty, so I quickly use one of the stalls, wash my hands, and leave. Going to the exit closest to where my car is parked, I push the door open and start down the sidewalk, hugging my jacket around me to ward off the cold night air. When I see movement out of the corner of my eye, I turn my head and my heart drops into my stomach as I watch a figure dump what looks like an unconscious woman into the trunk of their car and slam it shut.
“Oh, God,” I breathe, covering my mouth with my hand, and then I quickly duck behind the hood of a truck when the person stops and turns my way at the sound of my voice.
Did that just happen? No. No way. I close my eyes, trying to convince myself that I’m imagining things. Hearing a car start up, my lungs compress and I take off at a run without thinking, crouching low behind two cars and down an aisle to where I parked. When I get into my car, I start the engine and grab my cell phone out of my purse. I don’t even know what I’m doing as I pull out after the car, but something in my gut urges me to follow it.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
“I just witnessed a man put a woman in the trunk of his car!” I shout into my phone hysterically.
“Where are you, ma’am?” the woman asks, and I tell her the theater name then hold my breath when the light in front of me goes from red to green.
“The light just turned green. We’re leaving the theater parking lot now!” I cry, holding on to my steering wheel tightly as I press down on my gas.
“Which way are you heading?”
“I don’t know. Can’t you track my cell phone or something?” I yell, panicking as the car in front of me speeds up.
“Ma’am, please calm down. Do you see any street signs?” Calm down - is she crazy?
I scan the road, but there is nothing. “I don’t see anything. I’m in a bright blue Nissan Altima. He’s in a black Ford.”
“We’re looking for you,” she says, and I swallow then jerk my head to the right, seeing a sign.
“We’re on Bitterknot Road. I don’t know what direction we’re going, but I just passed mile marker five.”
“Good, that’s good.” She sounds relieved, and I let out a deep breath while sending up a silent prayer. “Ma’am, I’m transferring you over to an officer,” she tells me, and I nod. “Are you still there, ma’am?”
“Yes, sorry, I’m still here.”
“Transferring you now,” she says, the line going quiet.
“This is Detective Cobi Mayson. Who am I speaking with?” a deep voice rumbles in my ear, and I swallow. Cobi Mayson. I know him—or knew him—when I was in high school. Okay, I hadn’t actually known him, but I knew of him. Everyone did. At least, every person with a vagina did, and since I have one of those, I knew him. “Hello.”
“Sorry… Um… Hadley… um… Hadley Emmerson,” I whisper, clutching the phone to my ear.
“Where are you now Hadley?” he asks, and I look for a mile marker on the side of the road.
“Mile maker eighteen.”
“Good, that’s very good. I’m about five minutes behind you,” he says, and I don’t close my eyes in relief even though I want to.